


My Favorite Last Page

by imwiththeunicorn (tiatodd)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, F/M, Fluff warning, student/teacher romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2018-02-04 10:25:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1775710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiatodd/pseuds/imwiththeunicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a bunch of stuff I wrote for my deviantArt followers a couple years ago. Seeing as the site has started deleting a lot of my porn, I decided it would be a good idea to save this for...sentimental purposes. It is, unfortunately, lacking an installation, as deviantArt deleted it before I managed to save it. Anyway...enjoy it or not, but I'm mainly posting this for myself.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Dresscode

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bunch of stuff I wrote for my deviantArt followers a couple years ago. Seeing as the site has started deleting a lot of my porn, I decided it would be a good idea to save this for...sentimental purposes. It is, unfortunately, lacking an installation, as deviantArt deleted it before I managed to save it. Anyway...enjoy it or not, but I'm mainly posting this for myself.

Quick, get dressed! Gosh dangwhere were all your clothes?  
You tried to recall the last time you ran a wash. More than a week ago. That explained it.  
Now you scraped the back of your dresser drawers for something that didn't break the dress code. "Arugh!" The minutes on that clock were changing far too fast. Well you had to wear _something._ You tugged on a really tight pair of jeans, which felt a little like a push-up bra for your butt at the moment. Shoving your feet into a pair of tennis shoes, you donned a very lacy, tight camisole with thin straps. Over that, you wore a cute graphic tee you hardly ever got to wear, because it was an off-the-shoulder scoop neck, a detail you hadn't noticed when you bought it on clearance.  
You brushed your hair quickly, muttering a curse as you checked the clock again, and grabbed your school supplies, leaving the house without breakfast.  
\--  
Your heart sped and you blushed as you halted your brisk-walk in front of the blue door to your first period class that read, in white lettering, "US History  Jones."  
Mr. Jones always closed the door right when the bell rang, so that those who were late had to endure the shame of disrupting the class with the door's squeaking hinges, which you proceeded to do.  
A classroom full of bored and groggy students looked at you with mild disinterest, a couple chuckling in the back row as though it was really that embarrassing to show up to class late.  
It wasn't embarrassing, not really. You were okay with coming a couple minutes late to most classes.  
But this was Mr. Jones's class. And you liked Mr. Jones. As a teacher, of course; you respected him. He was a good teacher, he didn't take crap from students, his lectures were full of information that actually showed up on the tests, he was strict in enforcing the rules, he dressed very professionally, he was young, he was hot, and that smirk he had when he'd cornered a slacker or cheater made you giggly.  
Okay, maybe you didn't just like him as a teacher.  
He watched you take your seat in the front of the class, with that special smile on his face that assured he would tease you about this later. He went behind his own desk, leaning on it as he typed something into his keyboard. "You're gonna make me re-submit the role? Do you hate me?"  
"I know, shut up, I'm sorry!"  
"You're never tardy!" He looked up at you from the computer, smirking. "Bad girl. Is this the beginning of a delinquent streak, I hope not?"  
Oh those blue eyes. Like someone had bottled the well-kept blue of Lake Tahoe and filled them with it. As cliché as it sounded, his eyes were _definitely_ impossibly blue.  
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" you apologized, blushing as you got out a leaf of binder paper to write the warm-up.  
He sighed, chuckling. "Hey, you're only a minute late. All I've done is taken role. I haven't even instructed to start the warm-up yet."  
"Yes, okay," you said submissively, trying not to let those gawjus blue eyes distract you from your work.  
You were about halfway done with the warm-up by the time Mr. Jones instructed the rest of the class to. There were a good ten seconds of groaning, shuffling, desks squeaking and a lot of students asking each other for paper and/or pens. He always allowed ten minutes for the warm-up, but really, if you put any effort in it at all it only took about two.  
So you always started it early, so you could have ten minutes to talk with Mr. Jones. As you put your pencil down, he rolled across the floor his computer chair to your desk, straddling the back of it and resting his chin on his hands.  
"Good morning," you whispered, flipping over the warm-up and sliding it to the far corner of your desk. He picked it up anyway, laughing quietly as he read it.  
"Good morning yourself," he said. "What kept you? You're usually so punctual."  
"I was" You looked at the world map on the wall, rubbing the back of your neck. "I was having wardrobe issues."  
He peered over the paper at you, an eyebrow raised and a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I noticed." Oh gosh, was he blushing?  
"I'm really sorry about that," you said, crossing your arms. It didn't really cover you up, though, just sort of pushed your boobs closer together, so you put them back down on the desk, blushing.  
And he _was_ blushing, too. "I was actually gonna talk to you about that."  
Your face felt really hot and you slumped in your desk, pulling the top of your shirt up in attempt to cover yourself more.  
"Look, you're a great student," he said, quieting his voice more and leaning in closer. "I like that you listen to me and respect me and all that. And you're really bright. You do well on tests, you don't text during class which is a _miracle,_ and so I've taken to giving you special privileges. No one else in this classroom gets to listen to their iPod while they work, have you noticed? But breaking the dress code is crossing the line."  
"I'm sorry, it's not my fault! Well, technically it is, but I wasn't trying t"  
"I know," he said, reaching out to put a hand on your shoulder the way he did, but he blushed and dropped his hand before touching you. "I know you probably have a legitimate excuse, and so I'm not going to write you up this time. But if it happens again, there has to be a consequence. This doesn't just affect my classroom, you came to school like this. I'll let it slide but I can't promise about the other teachers. I'll vouch for you if you get called to the office but this had better not happen again."  
"I'm sorry" you repeated, eyes pricked with tears of embarrassment. "Won't happen again. I swear."  
He smiled at you. "Great job on the warm-up. You know what, here," he said, removing the jacket over his crisp white shirt and grey tie. "Wear this. Cover up. Don't worry about it looking silly, it'll probably just look adorable on you."  
In a brief spell of shock, you slipped the jacket over your arms. It was so warm!  
"Alright, finish up," he said to the class as he stood. "Who wants to tell me about the Kennedy assassination? Anyone? Joe, I know you have a couple pretty good conspiracy theories"  
While he wasn't looking, you pulled the jacket around your chest, burying your blushing face in it. It smelled really, really good.  
\---  
When you woke up the next morning, surrounded by barely-finished late-night homework, you thought about your first class yesterday and smiled. It made you actually want to get up, even though it was a half hour earlier than usual.  
There had been _so_ much homework yesterday, as it was nearing midterms, that you had barely had time for dinner. And you also hadn't had time to run a wash.  
Snap. The smile left your face. You had promised Mr. Jones you wouldn't show up in scrappy clothes again! Scuffling to get all your homework in your bag, you ran out to the washing machine with a basket full of clothes. A full wash would take way too long. You picked out a couple of outfits and threw them in, turning on the machine.  
You went about your usual morning routine, minus the clothes, and had time left over. The minute the washer went off, you threw the sopping clothes into the dryer, but according to the clock, you only had fifteen minutes before you had to leave.  
"No, no, no," you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Not happening" You scrambled around your room, coming up with the same exact results as yesterday, except today you didn't even have jeans. Only shorts, and short skirts. You picked the longest skirt out. It was barely six inches long. Why did you even have this?  
Okay, no panicking, you would justpull it down obsessively so it didn't show anything. Now time for a shirt.  
Nothing but spaghetti straps. You put one on, cursing at yourself for not being more prepared, and then remembered, hey, you could wear a sweatshirt. Why had you not thought of that yesterday?  
\--  
You entered the classroom on time. Early, even, and sat down, pulling nervously at the hem of your skirt before frantically getting out a piece of paper. You didn't look at Mr. Jones, just wrote the warm-up.  
"Nice to see you on time this morning," he said, not looking up from the computer. You didn't answer him, writing like mad. "Um, hello?"  
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him look up. He sucked in a barely audible breath and you could sense him tensing up. Then he cleared his throat, busying himself with a stack of papers.  
Finished with the warm-up before class even started, you put your head down on the desk, thoroughly embarrassed. Mr. Jones called out for any absent students, answering his own questions of who was here.  
"Alright, warm-up's on the board." You heard his footsteps getting close to your desk, stopping right in front. He tapped the wood with his knuckles. "Hey. Head up."  
You lifted your head, face-to-face with Mr. Jones who was crouching in front of your desk. His lips were pressed together, eyebrows raised, and his eyes darted under the desk for a brief moment, blood rising to his cheeks.  
"Thought we talked about this," he said softly.  
"I am _really_ sorry," you moaned, dropping your face into your hands and pulling at your hairline. "I know I promised this wouldn't happen againI didn't have time to run a wash last night, I had so much homework"  
"Come out to the hall," he said simply, standing up straight and walking to the door. You headdesked, miserable, and then got up to follow, tugging the bottom of your skirt as you walked through the door without looking at him. He leaned against the wall, ankles crossed, silent. Was he waiting for you to look at him?  
You raised your head to his disappointed face. He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it, looking up and down the hall and spying an open classroom. "In here," he said, opening a closet used for new workbooks and the confiscated items of disobedient students.  
You stepped into the small, dimly-lit room, blushing even more (if that was possible) when he shut the door behind you two. There were only about two inches of space between your bodies. You could almost hear him thinking this was a bad idea.  
"Hey, look at me," he said, struggling to keep his tone of authority and clearing his throat. He wasn't used to talking to you like he had power over you. It was usually like he was just a friend who happened to be in charge of your grades. "I trusted you to follow the rules on this one. Not having time to wash your clothes is not an excuse."  
"It's the truth, though," you whined, backing up against a shelf of Spanish 2 workbooks. It was getting a little stuffy in there.  
Mr. Jones opened his mouth several times, closing it again, and bit his lip, sighing and slumping his shoulders. "This isn't about the dress code"  
You held your breath, waiting. He leaned back against the door, scratching his head and then folding his arms over his chest.  
"It's personallyvery hdifficult for me to teach the class when" He sighed again, very much coming across like he was struggling to breathe correctly. "Youhave a very distracting body."  
Your jaw hung loose. Did he really just say that? "Iwhat?"  
He blushed darkly. "Okay. A lot of female students have crushes on me. So it wasn't really a surprise to me when you started acting all cute with me"  
Crap, you'd been obvious?  
"But you still listen and respect me," he said. "You care about learning, not just getting with me. I mean, there's a reason I quit the private tutoring sessions; the only one who would've actually taken them seriously is you but you don't really need it."  
Your heart swelled with pride as it pounded with nervousness and you got all jittery, like you hadn't had breakfast.  
"And Ihave grown" He cleared his throat. "Quite attached to you, too. You're the first student who treats me like an actual person, not some teacher trying to ruin their lives or aschool hottie or something. That's part of why I treat you special. Butumobviously, it isn't reallylegal for us to" He stopped, pressing a knuckle to his lips and not daring to look at you. "For us to have any sort of relationship."  
"R-right," you said, trying to encourage.  
He looked at you, and then looked away. "I'll be honest, when you dress like that, it's really _really_ hard for me to try not to want to keep you after class, lock the room and kiss you during passing."  
At such a bold admission, you had to hold onto the shelf behind you so as not to melt into a puddle on the floor. "What?"  
"I'm sorry," he said. "Oh man, I really shouldn't have said that. That was way out of line."  
Your face just got hotter and hotter the more he stumbled over his words. "Can youI'm sorry, Mr. Jones, can you just stop talking for a minute? This isn't really sinking in."  
He held his breath, biting his lip. You stared at him, white-knuckling it on the shelf. It felt like a good full minute before anything happened.  
And when something did happen, it was Mr. Jones stepping forward and taking your face in his hands, kissing you right on the lips. Your eyes widened in shock but then closed and you wrapped your arms around his neck, sighing and kissing back.  
"Mmn," he whined, holding you by the waist. His tongue slipped between your lips and you let him in, heart racing and face flushing. This had only happened in your dreams before, and it was about twenty times hotter now that it was real.  
You gasped, pressing up against him when his hands slid down to your ass, lifting your skirt and giving you a squeeze. Oh. My. Gosh.  
It was over way too soon, both of you panting as you broke apart. "We need to get back in class," he said, voice breaking.  
"Uh-huh, I understand," you breathed.  
"Meet me in here at lunch."  
"Yes sir."


	2. Dresscode II

You'd been distracted all day from first period on. Mr. Braginski had almost written you up for being so spacey.  
And now it was lunch and your heart was hammering and you could hear it in your ears and your stomach fluttered, the sensation almost overwhelming enough to trip you on your way to Mr. Jones's room. You clutched a hand to your stomach upon entering the hallway, hesitating at the closet door. When he'd said to meet him "here" did he mean the closet or the classroom?  
You got your answer when Mr. Jones stepped out to close the classroom door. He saw you and smiled, nodding his head toward the room in invitation. You smiled back shyly, entering with a shaky breath. "H-hi."  
"You're late," he teased, walking over to his desk and writing something in Sharpie on a piece of binder paper. "This is becoming habit. Do you like keeping me waiting?"  
Heart, shut up, you can't hear the teacher. "I'm sorry…I was finishing a chem test in Braginski's class."  
"Ooh. Gotcha." He winked up at you as he finished writing whatever it was. "Did you double check your answers?"  
"Of course."  
"That's my A student." As he walked to the door with the paper, he showed it off to you.  
Test in progress, it said. Do not interrupt. Under any circumstances. I take education seriously. Unlike Mr. Kirkland.  
You laughed out loud at that while Mr. Jones taped the note on the wall outside. When he came back in again he locked the door, and damn it your heart would just not settle down.  
You leaned on a desk, watching as Mr. Jones erased the board and wrote something on it for the next class. He was so prepared. It made you swoon on the inside. Just a little.  
Perhaps the sentiment showed on the outside, too, because Mr. Jones looked at you over his shoulder, eyebrows high like you had said his name, and then he smiled, coming right toward you.  
He was three inches away from you. It made you a bit dizzy.  
"So," he said, placing his hands on the desk at either side of you and leaning closer, "You wanna talk things over first or just skip the chat and get to it?"  
Ohhh gosh. "I-I dunno," you offered with a quiver in your voice, trying to get yourself to sounding as flirty and confident as he was being. "Tough choice; I really do love hearing you lecture."  
"You do?" he asked, cheeks turning pink. He chewed his lower lip a little. Oh gosh. So sexy. "Why, exactly?"  
"Because you know what the hell you're talking about," you answered honestly, trying not to let his closeness get to your nerves. "And I feel like I actually learn stuff. And…the way your lips move is hypnotizing."  
That part seemed to shock him a little, but he adjusted, smiling with teeth.  
"Sometimes it's hard to take notes because I'm just kinda mesmerized by your tongue and your lips and your teeth," you said in almost a whisper. The desk creaked as he leaned closer, trying to listen. Or was he just—oh, okay, he was kissing your jaw line. Your breath hitched. "A-and the sound of your voice…nnh…."  
He chuckled breathily, letting his teeth skim your skin as he kissed down your neck. The corner of his wire frames was shockingly cool against your hot skin, and you could feel the goosebumps rising as you shivered. "I like when you interrupt me to ask questions," he whispered. "I know that sounds silly. But I like knowing I have your full attention."  
You bit your lip, blushing hard as his breath tickled your neck, and tentatively placed a hand at the back of his head, combing your fingers through your teacher's hair. That thought made your eyes go wide. Holy sheets, this guy was your teacher.  
It kind of got you hot, how forbidden it was. You squirmed on the desk, crossing one leg over the other, and in the process your knee brushed up against the front of his pants. You felt and heard him gasp, the two of you tensing up.  
The hands on the desk beside you landed on your waist and Mr. Jones brought his face level with yours, lips parted and eyes wide and wanting. Those blue circles scanned your face, examined your eyes, your nose, and then your lips, lingering there. You could hear him breathing as his fingers tightened around your waist, pulling you just barely closer before his lips met yours for the second time that day, in a kiss that was soft and chaste and sweet.  
That quickly changed when suddenly he climbed up on the desk as well, straddling your crossed legs, bent over you to kiss you deeply. It was very clear that he was the one in control, but as much as that turned you on, you wanted some say, too. Take notes, fine, but maybe it was time to ask a question.  
Forcing yourself not to over-think it before you acted, you seized his tie, using it to pull yourself up into the kiss, giving yourself the power to fight back with your own tongue.  
A surprised "Mmh!" spilled from his mouth into yours and his hand wrapped around yours, as though he was going to make you let go, but then he thought better of it, evidently enjoying the brief spell of rebellion. He encouraged it, placing a hand at your back to pull your body up against his.  
Your lips and tongues worked hastily, teeth ticking together once in awhile as you sighed and moaned into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands spilled down your body to your thighs, gripping them and coaxing them apart. Dazed and lightheaded, you complied, and he slid back off the desk, wrapping your legs around his waist. Supporting you with his other hand at your backside, he lifted you off the desk, stumbling back toward the whiteboard and leaning against it as you continued to kiss him.  
He broke the kiss, moving down to your chin and your neck. You heard his hand pat the wall and with a click the florescent lights went out. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, breasts trapped against his chest. He kissed your collar bone, touching his teeth to it like he was about to bite, but didn't.  
You closed your eyes, whining softly at the feeling of his lips. Then he unzipped your sweatshirt, kissing down between your breasts and taking you completely by surprise. Blushing shyly, you jerked back, opening your eyes. He smiled and shook his head. "Bad girl. You do as teacher instructs."  
You nodded, nearly going limp in his arms.  
"What was that?" he coaxed.  
"Yes, Mr. Jones."  
"Now, let me kiss you," he said, pulling you closer again. You nodded and he resumed his position, face nuzzled between your breasts as his lips kissed you, sending shivers through your body. You squeezed your thighs around him, blushing to feel his reaction.  
"Ah…"  
His breath shook and he spun around, this time with your back to the wall. He grabbed your thighs, pulling you hard against him and causing you to moan. Oh man, oh man…  
Then he paused, stepping back a little and removing your legs from himself. You looked up at him with frantic eyes. What was he—  
And while that distracted you and you weren't paying any attention to his hands, he made you gasp, slipping a hand up between your thighs and touching you through your panties. He smirked at your surprise, the color in his cheeks darkening. You ducked your head, a little ashamed that he could feel how wet you were already getting as his fingers stroked you softly.  
Then those left you, Mr. Jones's hands placed on the white board to either side of you as he leaned over you, not touching you. You huffed in frustration, wrapping your hand around his wrist. "Wh-why'd you stop? Touch me!"  
He leaned down with his lips to your ear. "Excuse me, are you instructing me?" he said, voice low. A halted breath escaped your lips and you grew hotter all over. "Don't you instruct me. I'm the teacher. I'm the instructor."  
"But y-you can't just leave me hanging, you're supposed to—"  
"Don't talk back," he warned. "I could write you up for that, ya know."  
You whimpered, about to argue back, currently throbbing.  
"And you say…?" he prompted, giving you a look over the top of his glasses.  
"Yes, Mr. Jones."  
He chuckled, kissing your lips and placing a hand at the back of your head so it didn't press against the whiteboard. His other hand stayed put, much to your frustration, and as he kissed you, you whined in want. You were tempted to take care of it yourself. Sensing your impatience, he broke the kiss, giving your nose a peck and showing you his other hand. A bit of whiteboard marker had rubbed off on his fingers. "Well I can't do it now, I'd stain your clothes."  
"I don't care, though!" you moaned, forehead falling to his chest. "Just do it!"  
He laughed again. "We don't really have much time, you know. You were late." He kissed down your neck, unzipping your sweatshirt more and tucking a hand up under your shirt. His fingers were so warm against your skin, it only made you want him to touch you more.  
Panting, you grabbed him by the tie again, pulling him right toward you so he nearly had you pinned to the wall with his body. You sought your own satisfaction, crossing an ankle behind his and pulling his leg between yours, pressing yourself against his thigh.  
"Hmhm," he chuckled against your neck, slipping his leg out from between yours and pushing you back by the hips. "Chapter one today, sweetheart. Chapter one."  
"H-huh?"  
"And if you do well," he said, kissing your chest, "which you are, then we can start chapter two—" This time he touched you again, but only for a second before withdrawing his hand. "Tomorrow."  
You took a deep breath, draping your arms over his shoulders and letting him kiss your skin where he pleased. "You know I blow through chapters faster than the other students."  
"Yes, but this is my curriculum and I'll teach it to you at my own pace."  
"I'm tired of your pace," you said, grabbing his arms and quickly spinning you both around, pinning him to the wall this time. "I'm a fast learner, like I said."  
The shock on his face was priceless, and it made you want to kiss him to death so you proceeded to. "Mmh!"  
You grabbed him by the wrists, holding them against the whiteboard as you bit his neck.  
"C-careful, I bruise easily!"  
"Don't worry, it's below the collar," you purred, smirking at his sudden submission. "See? I know what I'm doing. Fast learner. Might even teach you a few things."  
His eyes widened and he slid down the wall a couple inches. You thought you heard his teeth chatter before he shook his head, breaking his wrists from your grasp. And somehow, suddenly, your back was on the top of a desk, and Mr. Jones's teeth tugged at the skin on your neck. "For a student to teach her teacher is presumptuous and rude."  
"We're not going to ruin this with a quoting session, are we?"  
"Well I apologize for being old enough to appreciate the classics," he said sarcastically, holding you down by the shoulders and kissing your lips again.  
"Mmnh, you're not that old, you're barely out of college."  
"Little older than that, sweetie."  
You tugged your fingers back through his hair, kissing him fiercely. He moaned, his body almost melting into yours as you felt him giving up control and just giving in.  
He nearly jumped when the bell rang and you did likewise, quickly getting up off the desk and fixing your skirt. The lights came back on and Mr. Jones straightened his tie, tucking his shirt, which had come up a lot during your activities. "Oh god," he muttered, blushing.  
He opened the door for you and you left, a wall of students watching you leave the classroom.  
"Study up for ch-chapter two tomorrow," he called, voice cracking mid-sentence.  
"Mmhm," you said, zipping up your sweatshirt and flipping the hood over your head to hide your red cheeks.


	3. Dresscode III

Heart rate elevated at the prospect of what was about to happen, you tapped your foot nervously outside the locked door of Mr. Jones’s room, white-knuckling your backpack straps. Everything about you was heating up, and your heart raced and bubbled so much you almost felt like you were going to puke.  
You’d felt like this last time, but now it was twice as bad because not only were you not late, you were early. And it bothered you that the room was locked because you were so nervous you actually felt like you wanted to get it over with.  
When the door finally opened, you kept your eyes glued to the floor, struggling to take a deep breath because your nervousness was fogging up your chest and stomach and not leaving enough room for fresh oxygen. “Hey,” you heard, Mr. Jones’s voice low and soft and a little rough on the edge. Looking up, you saw his eyes filled with the same thrilling lust you felt yourself. “Sorry to take so long.”  
“It’s fine. Just paying me back for last time, right?” There, now chuckle off your nerves.  
It didn’t work so well. You stepped into the room and set down your bag mechanically as he locked the door behind you. Keys clicked together a couple times and then came into contact with something hard, possibly the floor. A low _sssp_ of silk tie slipping through a loop turned your eyes toward your teacher, who blushed as he smiled at you, leaning against the locked door.  
“No, let…let me,” you insisted, getting over your jelly legs long enough to bring yourself face to face with the man and grab his purple, striped tie. You began to take it off, but something possessed you to fold it over itself and re-fasten a knot into it. Confused, Mr. Jones looked down at you with close-pinched eyebrows and parted lips, a small flicker of cautious fear in his blue eyes. You shook your head and smiled with half your mouth, undoing the top two buttons of his shirt before you tightened the tie around his neck. When you had the rest of his shirt undone, you grabbed the knot of the tie and guided his face right before yours. “I want you to keep the tie _on._ ”  
His breath snagged, brows rising, and you saw his tongue through his parted lips as it slid over his top canine and lateral incisor. Hungry. “Right. Well.” He took your wrists firmly, putting your hands down at your sides. “Thus begins chapter two of our studies.”  
The sentence sent a thrill through your nerves and you smiled eagerly as he worked off your sweater, and then your shirt. Whenever you moved to help him he would bat your hand and give you a stern look. But it was so difficult to keep still; you wanted to just strip down to nothing right there, or tear off the rest of _his_ clothes, or just do something with your terribly jittery hands. This want built up in your chest and throat in the form of a whine, and Mr. Jones chuckled.  
“Hey, calm down,” he whispered, undoing the button on your jeans now. The slight pressure sent small shocks of heat to your core. “I’ll give you some work to do in a minute. But first I…just…want to see you…”  
That last sentence was tinged with shyness, but his actions didn’t reflect such. Your jeans dropped to your ankles and you stood before him in just your undergarments, goosebumps rising on your bare flesh. His eyes assessed you slowly, following your chin down to your collar bone and your breasts, your torso, his eyes ate you up. He let out a sigh, eyes awed. It made you blush.  
“Shouldn’t we, uh, hurry this up a little?” you suggested, if only to divert the awkwardness of him staring at your almost-naked form.  
He nodded quickly. “Right. So—“  
As much as you loved hearing him talk, it was time to mash your lips against those beautiful, pink, parted ones of his, and time to feel his bare chest on yours. The shock of the sudden sensation almost made you jerk back, but with a muffled cry of surprise he grabbed your arms, holding you against him. “Mmh,” you sighed in response, working your tongue into his mouth as you slid his shirt the rest of the way down his arms.  
His steady hands held you carefully and he broke away and watched your face as he brought his palms down to your hips, curling his fingers inward to hold you close. Falling back against the door, he let you lean into him and kissed your forehead, brushing your hair back from your face. You fisted one hand into his hair, and with the other one searched for the light switch to turn it off.  
Once it was dark, you felt the muscles in his upper half tense for a moment, and his hands became less careful, wandering about your body more like a lover and less like a guardian. You felt his kiss-swollen lips on your mouth as his fingers trailed up your thighs, causing you to shiver. He chuckled in his throat and slipped his hands between your thighs, pushing at your clit through your panties. You gasped, presenting him with the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. He ran it along the inside of your bottom lip, and it tickled excitingly.  
Mr. Jones’s finger pressed against your clit and he kissed along your jaw to your ear, whispering, “Are you ready?”  
“Unh,” you moaned, “Don’t worry, I’ve studied.” You rocked your hips a little, gaining some friction and biting your lip.  
He chuckled, sliding one hand up your back with lightly scratching nails until he reached the clasp of your bra and pinched it open. “Oh you have?”  
“Yes, actually. I’ve been studying all the important points,” you explained in a whisper, face heating up as he dipped his head down between your breasts. “Ah—for example, your hair. And your…nnh…hands, the way your fingers are always fiddling with something—“ Your explanation was choked off as the aforementioned fingers slipped your panties down and touched your exposed heat. You bit your lower lip and swallowed hard as he rubbed. “And…nh your…your eyes, how your eyes assess me, and how your lips—mmf!”  
Those lips cut you off and he was kissing you again, with one hand holding your back and the other rubbing your clit in circles. Your legs quivered and you felt yourself getting wet, blushing at the lewd sounds as his fingers made their way to your entrance. “Don’t worry, you’ll ace this. Shame it won’t be counted toward your grade.”  
“Yeah, darn,” you managed to stutter as his free hand grazed the side of your breast, thumb casually slipping over your nipple which began to harden at the contact. “Nnh…”  
Your fingers failed a few times to unfasten his belt buckle, for you were so dazed by arousal and his busy fingers were not making your job easy, but you succeeded, wincing at how loud it rattled.  
Before you could get any further, he turned the two of you slowly and backed up to a desk, still stroking you gently. He hopped up with a grunt, finger flicking your clit as he did. You gasped, quickly climbing up on the desk and straddling him, grabbing his tie and pulling yourself close. His hand fell away, leaving you hot and wet and tingling, heart racing in your chest. Impatience causing your hands to fumble, you managed to get his khakis open, and pulled them down with his boxers just enough to free his erection.  
“Mmmh…”  
He put a hand to it himself, giving it a few firm strokes. “H-uh…c’mere.”  
“Yes, sir,” you said obediently, kneeling over his hips. He grabbed yours, pressing his mouth to your stomach which was right there, and gently coaxed you down onto him. As he penetrated you he ran his lips over your chest, kissing and lipping at your breasts and your collar bone. With a shiver, you combed your fingers up backward through his honey-colored hair, his cool glasses pressing into your skin. You removed those as carefully as you could with one shaking hand as he guided you down.  
“Ah, ha-ah…Mr. Jones…”  
He groaned a bit louder than he should have; you just prayed no one heard. Adjusting quickly, you raised yourself up, gripping his shoulders, and lifted yourself almost completely off his cock, relishing the feeling before coming back down.  
_Ohhh._ You tipped your head back and he kissed your neck, lifting you himself this time. Soon you were at a quick and steady pace, panting and sighing and trying so terribly hard to keep quiet, even when the desk did skid a couple of inches at a particularly forceful thrust on his part.  
“A-ah!” You clapped a hand over your mouth and he mumbled an apology, panting hotly over your chest.  
The pleasure built and built, fizzing through your core. Your stomach and chest grew warm and your cunt throbbed around his cock, your head went light with the rapidity of your breathing. Mr. Jones’s movements became more stiff and forceful, his fingers nearly bruising your hips as he directed you down onto him again and again. You rocked your hips, initiating a slight circling motion and you turned your head back and away in halted slow motion as the sensation teased and built. You lifted and sank down again, just a little bit further this time as you rocked your hips and “HhnnNN--!” There it was, oh _fuck_.  
“Hm…there?” he panted, thrusting up and nearly hitting your spot, _nearly._ You moved your own hips and he thrust again, hitting it dead on. You sank your teeth into your lower lip and screwed your eyes shut, winding his tie into your fingers as if holding on to this world, willing yourself not to make any noise louder than the high squeak that leaked from your throat. Somehow, the need to be quiet only added to the pleasure, and each time he thrust, whether he hit your g-spot or not, you felt like you were just about there.  
Oh, oh no, no, _now_ you were, oh…“Oh…a-ah, Mr. J-Jhones…” you whispered, words barely distinguishable from your heavy breath. “I’m, ah…!” You bit your lip, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressed your cheek to his and before you could actually warn him, you were climbing to your climax. You choked off a moan as you clenched around him, riding him hard as you came, and soon you felt him release as well, lips pressed hard enough to your neck that you could almost feel his teeth.  
Your head felt completely light and good and relaxed and your knees felt sore from the desk. Mr. Jones chuckled breathily, running a hand through his hair to keep it from his face. “You know, you can call me Alfred. I’m pretty sure this counts by now as knowing each other on a personal level.”  
You sighed, pressing your forehead to his neck. “You couldn’t have said that before we did it?”  
You could feel his heart in his chest, and it was a delightful speed, but the clock on the far wall told you it was time to clean up.  
“Maybe we should…”  
“Yes, right,” he said, straightening his tie as you lifted yourself up and off the desk. “And, uh. That was, um…that was a definite A-plus,” he said, voice cracking just a bit.


	4. Hero

February 14th brought as much pink-and-red heart balloons and hallway make-outs as you had expected, and first period hadn’t even started yet. The hallways were decorated for the Valentine’s Day dance, and you just stood outside Mr. Jones’s door, books clutched to your chest, blushing at the thought of who your Valentine was this year.

The two of you had had a cute, secretive relationship for a few weeks now, and gone on very discreet dates. You wondered if he had anything planned for today, but considering it was a school night, that was probably a no. Just in case, however, something happened during school, you had dressed nice; and by nice, I mean a nice, red, half-to-the-knees skirt and white half-calf boots. A white, fluffy long-sleeved sweater with a scooping neckline showed off only the straps of your red tank top.

You were still very anxious to see him, and waited impatiently outside of your US History class with your fellow classmates.

“Hey,” said the familiar voice of a boy with butterscotch blond hair, almost Mr. Jones’s doppelganger except for the freckles. He was way cute, but had always struck you as rather standoffish. He leaned against the door, quirky half-smile making him look almost amiable. “So…Valentine’s day,” he said shyly, looking down at the floor.

“What do you want, Sam?” you asked suspiciously.

“I, w-well…” The stutter made his already-cute, thick Southern accent even more adorable. “I like you. I kinda have for awhile and, uh…”

His words shocked you. This was news. “I…didn’t know you were into girls, actually.” You hadn’t really meant to say that. A brief spell of anger flashed over his pale blue eyes.

“Oh, uh…”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “That just kind of came out. I…I’m sorry, please continue.”

He took a breath, looking a bit shaken. “I was…I was wonderin’ if, um. If you’d like to be my Valentine.”

You didn’t know what to say. _”Oh, I’m sorry, Sam, I’m already dating our history teacher.” “I’d love to, but you’ve always kind of been a dick to me.”_ So you just kind of stuttered. “Uh…I…”

He bit his lip, leaning toward you. Oh no, this was bad.

“Sam, I…”

He closed his eyes, placing a hand on your shoulder, and just before your lips met his other hand hit your other shoulder and you stumbled backward—or tried, but something was stopping your feet from moving, and you tripped backward over what you would later discover was a balled-up Peter Kirkland.

“WAH!” you cried, shutting your eyes and flailing, bracing yourself for contact with the hard linoleum floor to an audience of laughing high schoolers and clattering books.

But the expected impact was impeded by a pair of strong arms accompanied by a concerned cry of your name, and when you opened your eyes you were looking upside-down into Mr. Jones’s face, all your weight supported by his hands as he helped you back up to your feet. “You okay?” he asked, picking up your scattered books.

“Yes,” you panted, blushing. “Yeah, I’m fine…”

He smiled, relieved, and then glared past you at Sam. “Do you think that’s funny?”

“Yes, sir, I do,” Sam replied indignantly, clearing his throat from a cackle fit. “Did you see her face?”

“Will you quit trying to be such a rebel?” Mr. Jones growled. “No one thinks it’s funny.”

“They all did,” said Sam, nodding at the other students.

“Well anyone who laughed at that is incredibly immature,” said Mr. Jones, looking around at the others. Many of the girls of the class looked away, ashamed. The hallway quieted and Mr. Jones unlocked the classroom door, letting everyone shuffle in.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you passed.

“Any time, sweetheart,” he whispered back, giving you a wink and handing you your books. You smiled brightly and took your seat.

You wrote the warm-up quickly and dedicated some time to giving the teacher a good once-over. Very festive today, you noted, as his shirt was light pink and his tie was purple and silver. You estimated the number of immature gay jokes that would be thrown in his direction today, and then admired his boldness for wearing the colors despite this inevitability. Obviously, he didn’t care what anyone thought.

Except, maybe, you.

He finished up what he was writing on the board and made his way to your desk, smirking as he whispered, “Checkin’ me out?”

“I—“

“I could feel your eyes on me.”

You flushed. “Don’t get so cocky just because you’ve got me. You’re still my teacher, not some lady-killer.”

“Apparently, I’m both.”

\--

It had been a packed first period, so you didn’t get much one-on-one time with your beloved teacher before the bell obliged you to head to the next class. But as soon as lunch started, you nearly bowled people over in the hallway, so anxious were you to reach Jones’s classroom.

“Hi!” you said, closing the door behind you and smiling over at the teacher behind his desk. He smiled back, walked over to you and removed your backpack, relieving your arms of the weight of your textbooks.

“Hi,” he echoed, kissing your cheek. You heard him lock the door behind you. “Happy Valentine’s day.”

Your heart sped up. “Are we gonna…?”

“If you want,” he whispered against your lips. You leaned forward and kissed him, blushing darkly. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around you, lifting you off the ground, and backed up into a desk.

You let your lips travel to his neck, just above the collar of his shirt, and you sighed, kissing and sucking.

“H-hh, below the collar, s-sweetheart,” he said, loosening his tie and undoing the top button of his shirt.

“Hmmm, Alfred,” you sighed, nibbling at the spot that you knew would drive him insane, just above the middle of his left collarbone.

“Oh! God,” he breathed, chest heaving already. Obviously attempting to regain control, he pulled away from your appraising lips and slipped a hand into your skirt. You swallowed a whimper and tried to keep face, pushing him back until he sat on the desk.

“Well, that’s a familiar position,” you said, undoing his shirt the rest of the way and climbing up onto the desk to straddle him. He slowly brought your legs around his waist, prompting you to hook your ankles, and once he’d accomplished this he stood with his arms supporting your back as he spun around and placed you on the desk in his old position. “Hey!” you giggled as he kissed down your neck and collarbone, slipping off one strap. “Hmmm…”

His face came level with yours again, blue eyes warm and hungry. He kissed your lips once and pulled back, kissed between your breasts and pulled back again, and then locked his eyes with yours as he sank to his knees, drawing your thighs apart. Your breath caught in your throat and you perched yourself at the very edge of the desk, allowing him to lift your skirt and n- _nuzzle--_ “Oh, nnh…” You ran your fingers through his golden locks, scraping the back of his head with your festively painted nails. A high whimper cracked in your throat at the feeling of his warm breath on you.

It was a very small sound, but the rattling of the door startled you both so much that you froze. Mr. Jones immediately tucked his shirt back in and began to button his shirt. “Hello? Jones,” called Mr. Kirkland through the door, knocking. You hopped off the desk, sure to land on the toes of your feet, and ducked behind Mr. Jones’s desk, suddenly feeling very exposed.

“H-hey, one sec,” Mr. Jones said, a slight waver in his voice. You heard the door open.

There was a pause. “Why was the door locked?”

“Uh, don’t know. Probably one of my students when they left. Hah, how childish…”

“Right…” the Brit said, skeptically. “Speaking of students, mine stole all the dry erase markers last period. May I—“

“Yes, here.” You heard a metallic scrape. “Bye, then.”

“Wait.”

Another pause.

“Jones, is there a reason you won’t open the door all the way?”

“I…no, but you have what you need, so—“

“Alfred.”

“Bye!”

The door closed and you heard a steamed protest before Mr. Kirkland stomped away down the hall. Mr. Jones’s steps grew louder and he crouched behind the desk.

“Well, uh…” He chuckled nervously. “Don’t worry, I don’t think he suspects.”

“Oh, no?”

He loosened his tie, blushing. “Do you want to continue or not?”

It took a moment for you to decide, but you nodded, sinking to your back on the dirty linoleum and spreading your legs again. He bowed his head between them.

\--

He had said he’d walk you to his truck after school, but you had been waiting at the curb of the parking lot for some minutes after last period, and he still wasn’t there. So you took a deep breath and braced yourself for the suicide that was walking across the school parking lot.

A Dodge nearly dodged you and another car nearly backed into you out of its parking spot. Your feet jumped and skittered, and occasionally you’d blend in with a flock of crossing students, but none of them were exactly headed toward the teachers’ parking spaces. They weren’t even that far away, but you didn’t trust moving ten feet in this parking lot.

Right now you were safe between two parked cars, your faded blue target within thirty feet. You looked around you, waited for a ’67 Impala to finish careening around the corner, and brisk-walked to the truck, checking your left and right out of the corners of your eyes.

“Watch out!” A strong hand grabbed tight hold of your wrist and you were whisked to your right, out of the way of a distracted parent’s minivan. It’s back bumper was now where you had been standing. You would have been a pancake. “You okay?” Mr. Jones asked, hands gripping your shoulders firmly. You were practically nestled to his chest, and when you looked around there were a lot of bewildered students staring at you. Some were gaping. Your initial reaction was panic, because _obviously_ they knew of your secret affair!

One girl with straight, blond hair and bumped bangs walked up to you two, smiling through perfectly straight, white teeth. “Wow, Mr. Jones. You’re like, totally a hero…”

Oh, right. That’s why they were staring; you’d nearly been run over by a minivan. That was a relief.

“Hah, uh. Thanks, I guess…” he said. You could feel his heart racing. He was still holding you.

“You guess?” another girl squeaked. “That was totally awesome, you’re like…Superman and stuff!”

The fangirls multiplied and you sighed, shrugging away from Mr. Jones with a quiet “thank you.” Before you had made it out of the sudden flock of females, however, you felt a hand on your back and looked back to see him rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

“Don’t you think it’ll be a bit suspicious? You know…you walking me to your car? On Valentine’s day?” you asked.

He shrugged, having walked you safely to his vehicle, and held the door open for you. “In this parking lot? Come on, the drivers don’t even notice who they’re supposed to avoid hitting.” He nodded over at the girls on the curb, all fawning and swooning and retelling their versions of what happened. “And they’re far too busy…with their uh…whatever it is they’re doing, exactly.”

“We call it fangirling.”

“Mm.” He closed your door and got in the driver’s side, turned on the car and waited. “Hope ya don’t mind waiting a couple minutes. This parking lot…”

“I totally get it.”

He smiled. “So…would you like to know where we’re going?”

“It would ease my wondering mind, yes.”

“I dunno, maybe I’ll just tell ya later,” he teased, clicking on the radio. “Nah. I was thinking…I mean, if it doesn’t sound boring to you; I’m totally open to other ideas…we could just go for a drive, you know; you, me, and the truck. And then we can go to Mel’s because they have amazing bacon burgers. And then tonight we could go to a drive-in movie, and not watch it.”

“You are so American,” you giggled.

“Hey, I teach US History for a reason!”

“And um. Why would we go to a movie if we weren’t going to watch?” But you knew the answer as soon as the words left your mouth, and you blushed. “Oh.”

“You’re smart, I like you.”

“You’re cute, I like you,” you echoed, successfully earning a blush. “Sounds like a very cute, American Valentine’s day date.”

“Is that a yes? Because I’m still open to new—“

You interrupted him with a kiss, ruffling his hair. “It’s an of course, hero.”

“Oh stop it, I’m not a hero!”

“Yes you are. You’re my Captain America! And I’m your Peggy. Or Tony. Depending on what you ship.”

“Oh, god,” he groaned. “Shipping. Ruining comics for me.”

“Yeah, yeah. So we goin’ or what?”

“Yes indeed.”


	5. End Book 1

“Hwh,” you sighed, lining up behind your classmates for yet another graduation walk rehearsal. How much effort does it really take to walk across half a football field to a row of fold-out chairs? But you submitted yourself to following the row of completely done high school students one more time.

Before you had made it to the grass, however, you were grabbed by the elbow and pulled out of line. “Hey! What th—oh.”

You ruffled the hair of the smirking young teacher who had your arm. Looking around to be sure no one had noticed, he led you under the bleachers, pushing his glasses up on his nose. His blue eyes sparkled and he bit his lip, looking on the verge of saying something.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, I’m…I thought I’d just save you from having to walk up and down that stupid aisle one more time. It…robs from the actual experience.” He turned his head, seeming to laugh at some inside joke. “Are you excited?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled. “Wow. I’m not a high schooler anymore, after this.”

“Not my student anymore.”

“But I’ll always be your girl,” you said, blushing. “Oh, wow. That sounded cheesy. I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m…I’m glad to hear it.” A breeze rolled by. Off in the distance, thick gray clouds crept into the sky. You shivered and he responded with a hug, holding you to his chest. You tucked your arms up between the two of you, for warmth, for security. He kissed your head. “Kind of fitting, really. Our relationship started out pretty cheesy.”

“Are you talking about the cheesy teacher jokes when I started your class,” you asked, “or when you referred to our first and second sexual encounters as ‘chapters’?”

“Oh, god! Don’t remind me,” he groaned. “I’ve been teaching far, far too long.”

“Hey, I don’t mind. Perhaps it’s my inner nerd, but…” You snuggled. “I like the book analogy. It fits.”

“Well in that case, I feel like we’re coming to the end of it.”

This alarmed you for a moment. “The end of our book?”

“The first in a series,” he corrected. “A wonderful, life-filled series.”

“ _Now_ you’re being cheesy.”

“All right, all right.” He kissed your lips and you took his face in your hands, kissing back. “Mm, hah…kissing a pretty girl under the bleachers. Have I mentioned before that you make me feel so, _so_ young?”

“Perhaps.”

Another breeze came through and you peeked through the bleachers at the very bored seniors. “I should get back to the stupid practicing…”

“All right. I’ll see you tonight.”

\--

“You ready?” you had been asked by about the millionth fellow student tonight.

“Yeah, yeah. So fun. I can’t believe it’s almost over,” you replied in monotone, scanning for somewhere in the center court where you could run off to and not be pestered. You still had thirty minutes to go. It was cold out, and the sky had begun to sprinkle, so you decided to keep your robe off until the last minute so you could keep your sweatshirt on.

“Hey, bored?” asked the energetic voice of Mr. Jones. You turned around and smiled.

“Ugh, yes…”

“I’ve…” Oh gosh, was he blushing? “I’ve got something that might make you less bored. I wanted to save it for later, but I really _really_ want to give it to you now.”

He _was_ blushing. And you blushed as well, taking the hand he offered.

“It’s in my truck. Come on.”

Parents and family had just begun to arrive, so it was a long and dangerous walk across the parking lot, but once you had made it to his truck and clambered in, there wasn’t a soul around. All the traffic was several rows of cars over.

You sat patiently in the passenger’s seat, wiping rain drops off your face and combing your hair back from your face as Mr. Jones reached around in the side pocket of his door. Before he showed you what it was, he looked back at you with an anxious expression. Whatever anticipation he was experiencing, he pushed it down in that moment.

You were not expecting this, this silvery little box thrust at you so suddenly. He let you take it and open it.

“I-I was gonna wait until after graduation.” His voice was unsteady. “You can say no. I know it’s kind of sudden. I just…I really…I love the time we spend together, and I love how smart you are, and I love…you—“

He had shut up because your lips had made him do so. Ring on your finger, you shuffled awkwardly over the barrier between you and straddled his lap, kissing him passionately. He seized you by the shoulders and kissed back.

“We’ve got less than a half hour, babe, think we can do this?” you breathed, not really waiting for more than a quick nod before you tugged his tie loose and ground your hips against his. You dragged your hands up and down his shirt, kissed and licked his neck and lips, moaned against his mouth. His hands did their own exploring, across your shoulders, up your stomach as he derobed you, down between your thighs.

You whined and unzipped your pants, leaning your chest flat against him to pull them off completely. His strong hands massaged your back eagerly as you did so and once you were done you rubbed him hard through his slacks. His breathing intensified. You heard the click of his glasses folding, heard them clatter gracelessly against the dashboard.

The windows steamed up around you and at the same time, the rain outside grew heavier and louder, tumbling against the roof. “Hh-hh, honey, w-wait,” he instructed. You were so wet; you wanted him so badly, but you did wait, and settled for sucking hickies into his collarbone while he opened the glove compartment for a condom.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a bright flash, wondering briefly if they could still hold your graduation outside during a thunderstorm. Soon, the thought left, as though it had never even occurred to you. You let your hips sink down, embraced the feeling of him filling you, and moaned with a loud roll of thunder.

A hot rush of breath spilled out of his mouth and over your breasts. His warm, wet lips kissed across the tops of them and over your chest. As you moved up and back down, he locked his fingers with yours and took your ringed hand to his lips, kissing between each finger. “Oh. God.”

“A-ah,” you sighed in response. The sensations down below along with the magical, pattering sound of the rain made you shiver, again and again. “Alfred, I love you…”

“Nnh…I know…”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the laughter quickly broken by a moan as the tip of his cock brushed against your most sensitive spot. You watched as his eyes fluttered and glowed. His parted lips met the side of your neck, kissed up under your jaw, sucked. Sucked, bit. You were getting close. Rocking your hips back and forth, and gyrating them in circles, you helped him build the friction. You could see the pulse in his neck as his head fell back against the seatback.

Your legs spread as wide as the confined space of the driver’s seat would allow. One of his hands held your bare back as the other one remained entangled in your other. He came before you did, drawing in a sharp breath as his hips thrust hard into you. Lighting flashed in his eyes just before they closed. You climaxed with the thunder, a bundle of moans, sighs and shivers before you let yourself fall forward against him.

“Alfred…”

“I love you, too,” he whispered, running a hand through your hair over and over. The rain continued its music. “How much time we got?”

“N-not a lot,” you said. “But if we’re gonna be late, this is totally worth it.”

He nodded against your neck. "Hey, guess what. I think that was the last page of book one."

You chuckled, kissing his cheek. "My favorite last page ever."

"Just you wait for the sequel."


End file.
